How to Save a Life
by Keiran
Summary: [39, AU, PWP] Sanzo caves in to peer pressure i.e. Gojyo, and goes to a club. Against all predictions, he gets laid.


Author: Keiran  
Title: How to Save a Life 1/1  
Rating: R  
Genre: AU, romance, lemon, PWP  
Pairings: 39 (Sanzo/Goku)  
Warnings: there be sex. Moderately graphic.  
Disclaimer: I do not own Saiyuki. The following is strictly for entertainment purposes.  
Notes: After a long period of thought, I decided (for now) not to continue this fic. It might be that case that I change my mind later on, but don't hold your breath.

Thanks to the Rroselavy, for betaing!

xxx.XXX.xxx

Sanzo rolls his eyes and glares at the simpering cretin to his left. He has no idea why he let the two morons who like to call themselves his friends drag him to the club. The music is decent and the drinks leave a pleasant buzz in his head, but it isn't like he wanted to dance or get laid. No matter what the red-headed idiot says, getting laid isn't a nightly necessity.

He takes another sip and chances a glance to the dance floor. Hakkai has managed to drag the idiot somewhere more private, thank god for that. Gojyo has no shame, and his idea of dancing could probably result in an arrest for indecent exposure, even in a freakin' club. Dancing, ha! As if.

"Hey, can I have a beer?" a breathless voice next to Sanzo exclaims. He is all set to snap at the man, but he realises the question wasn't directed at him.

Wow, someone who actually knows what a bartender is for. What are the odds? Sanzo turns his head slightly and stares at the guy. He is a pretty young thing, on the short side, true, and nowhere near athletic, but pleasant to look at just the same.

"Thanks," he says to the bartender as he turns around and plops onto a newly vacated seat. The whole bar is vaguely claustrophobic, tiny tables and chairs so close to one another it's hard to fit a group of three at a four-place table. Sanzo is acutely aware of the intimacy of the setting, had been cursing it all evening as a whole parade of creeps has taken turn standing a little too close for his comfort, whether any of them were actively hitting on him or not. Strangely enough, this guy's okay. It doesn't bother Sanzo that he can feel his chest move in tune with his (accelerated) breathing. It does weird him out, but mostly because it doesn't bother him. Sanzo allows himself to marginally relax. He still doesn't have a clue as to what he doing in a club of all places, but the edge is finally off. After a long evening of drinking, it's almost a fucking miracle, Gojyo would say.

Fuck it, Sanzo thinks and turns just a little more. The guy is resting his forehead against the chilled glass, and his eyes are closed. His expression is sombre and somehow Sanzo just knows something is out of place. But then he opens his eyes, looks up, and his face lights up with a sunny grin.

"Hey," he says. At least that's what Sanzo thinks he hears, because the actual sound didn't reach his ears. He nods in reply. The guy smiles and drains his beer. He throws the glass at the barman and hops off the stool. He doesn't look back as he walks to the dance floor. Sanzo is once again alone at the bar, clutching his glass, both of his brows hidden beneath the fringe of golden hair.

Was he just dismissed?

It certainly wasn't disinterest Sanzo saw in the other man's wide eyes, far from it, though, apparently not enough to warrant a game.

Well, two can fucking polka he thinks to himself, and stands up. He walks slowly, trying to remember what moves are required for dancing. In the gyrating mass of people it's easier than he anticipated. His body moves more fluidly than anyone—Gojyo chief among them—would expect from the infamous ice prince. Sanzo is on his way around the third cluster of dancers when he notices his secret ignorer. He's alone. Oh, he's dancing with about five people, but he's obviously not a part of that group. Sanzo smirks. He hasn't been noticed yet – the fuzzy brown head is turned away from him, and even if it wasn't, Sanzo is sure those eyes are closed.

Sanzo moves forward, just a little bit, so that the tip of his nose comes in contact with the soft skin just below the hairline. He doesn't say anything, instead, he just forces his body to mould against the shorter frame. It does wonders for his own moves, he has to admit. Dancing never came naturally to him; he learned alright, but it took practice. This guy moves like he has music running through his veins. Quite an exhilarating feeling, being pressed up against a form that finds dancing as natural as breathing.

Sanzo's hands find their way onto the guy's hips, fingers splaying against the greyish denim, thumbs dipping in front pockets.

Two songs pass before Sanzo loosens his grip and allows the other man to turn around. His eyes are closed, and this for some reason, frustrates Sanzo beyond belief. He hates being ignored when he wants to be noticed. It seems to be an acceptable alternative to lean forward and press his mouth against those parted lips. His partner stiffens momentarily and his eyes fly open.

"Look at me," Sanzo says, and kisses him again. He can feel arms winding around his back, as they continue to move to the overwhelming beat. Sanzo suspects that's exactly why they play the music so loud – it's virtually impossible to think, the body is forced to react to instinct, without pesky brain interference.

They manage to stop kissing every now and then, long enough for Sanzo to blink a few times and confirm that his initial impression is indeed correct. The guy's eyes are golden. The club lights make the irises gleam in a way worthy of a big-budget horror movie, one including a demonic possession. Sanzo grins inwardly. Sometimes interesting just doesn't seem to cover it.

"Let's go," he whispers directly into the surprisingly soft hair. By the looks of it, hair gel had to be involved, but it's soft and the smell doesn't indicate anything except a familiar brand of shampoo.

But hair takes a backseat when the guy smiles lazily. "Ok," he agrees. Sanzo offers a wry half-smirk, and, without much ado, he walks out of the club. The silence of the streets is deafening after the blazing roar of pumping speakers. "What's your name?" the guys asks as he catches up with him, his wide eyes staring curiously. Sanzo takes a minute to answer, staring back at him hard. The pupils are dilated, but not impossibly so, that, and the healthy flush on the other man's cheeks, is probably caused by alcohol.

"Sanzo," he answers finally.

"I'm Goku."

They walk in silence, pausing briefly at a convenient pharmacy. Sanzo lights up a cigarette and allows his body to relax as the cloud of smoke leaves his mouth. Ten minutes more of walking and they step over the threshold of his apartment.

"You want a drink?" Sanzo asks, walking toward the kitchen. None of the lamps are on, but the city lights illuminate the interior enough to navigate without bumping into furniture.

"Beer?" Goku looks hopeful. Sanzo finds a couple of cans somewhere in the depths of his neglected fridge and hands one over. He listens for the hissing pop and watches Goku's lips press against the cold metal. He can almost hear the fizzing liquid slide down his throat, which really is quite distracting. Sanzo sets his own beer aside and pulls Goku's away from his mouth. The brunet seems surprised at the sudden lack of beverage, but leans into the kiss, soaking it up. His lips are cold, but friction warms them up quickly.

The cans are forgotten as they stand in the dark kitchen, clinging to one another's heat. The taste of the beer is not, however – their mouths are ripe with it, and sharp with the smoke still tainting Sanzo's every breath.

Sanzo reaches out and tangles his fingers in the long – considering how spiky it is – hair. He can feel Goku's hand on the small of his back, slipping under his shirt. He fights a shudder. Those fingers are still cold and wet, and feel unbelievably good, sliding up and down his spine.

"Shower," Sanzo mutters eventually, pulling away from the kiss. Goku 'mhms' dreamily but steps away, grabbing the can of beer on the way. Sanzo points him in the direction of the bathroom.

A short time later Sanzo walks out of the bathroom himself, wiping excess water from his skin. Goku is waiting at the window of his bedroom, staring listlessly into the light-spotted city. Sanzo, for the second time that night, presses his face against the exposed nape. His mouth catches a few stray droplets of water on their way down. Goku shivers when the warm breath brushes his wet skin. Sanzo allows his mouth to curve in a smile, secure in the knowledge that it's completely hidden from onlookers. The smile changes back into a smirk as he turns Goku around and catches his mouth again.

They kiss and kiss, drowning in the bitter aftertaste of beer and acrid, dry smoke. Sanzo doesn't particularly care for smokers, even though he's been addicted to cancer sticks for almost a decade himself. Luckily, it seems that Goku has managed to avoid the habit. There's the subtle hint of nicotine about his mouth, but Sanzo can tell it's his own tongue carrying the suggestion.

Sanzo's hands move into Goku's hair, pushing his head back and exposing his throat. He trails his tongue down the column, scraping his teeth against the skin. Goku's fingers struggle to grip his shoulder blades as he arches his back to press against Sanzo. His mouth is half open and he makes an effort to keep drawing long, deep breaths. Sanzo releases Goku's head and runs his fingers down the curve of his spine. Immediately Goku latches back onto his mouth, not even trying to keep the kiss coordinated. It's all enthusiasm and sloppiness and sheer heat; teeth and tongues and saliva, mouth slipping from mouth onto cheek and jaw.

Sanzo takes a step forward, deeper into the kiss, so that Goku is trapped between his chest and the wall. Belatedly he realises that untucking the towel will present something of a problem now, but where there's a will, there's a way, and there's so much will in him just now. He manages. He drops it to the floor just as Goku's hands move from Sanzo's back to his neck, gripping his shoulders. Sanzo is momentarily puzzled, but then he feels Goku's legs part and simultaneously slide up his, to wrap around his waist.

Holy fuck, Sanzo thinks, he doesn't look like much, but he is fit. He presses even harder in response, driving Goku's back into the wall. He feels the towel around his waist loosen and start slipping, aided by very purposeful wiggling. Not that he minds. Suddenly, all that matters is that he can touch as much skin as possible. The towel puts up a bit of a fight, but eventually it succumbs to gravity and joins the other on the floor.

Sanzo braces himself, and pushes away from the wall. It takes a little effort to manoeuvre them onto the bed, partly because Goku is not a lightweight, but mostly because his hips are pressed against Sanzo's in a manner that renders coherent thoughts indecipherable. Sanzo makes an effort nevertheless, and lowers them onto the mattress, slower than gravity would have liked. But then, gravity is not welcome here anymore.

Sanzo forces Goku's hands away from his neck and lifts himself up, keeping his weight more or less evenly distributed between his hands and hips. Not that the latter helps with thinking clear, but at this point nothing, save for an icy shower, would help him to think clearly.

Goku's chest is heaving, the rapid movements drawing Sanzo's attention. The blond ducks his head and presses his mouth to the pulsing sternum, leaving a gleaming trail of saliva along its length. A flash of silver catches his eye. Without missing a beat Sanzo raises to his knees and dips his head lower, lapping at the bellyring.

Obviously, erogenous zones were updated to body jewellery since he last got laid, he thinks, because Goku moans and arches his back beneath him – it really is quite a flattering look. On the other hand, this may very well be due to Sanzo's fingers skimming lightly over his erect cock. Sanzo grins against the pliant abdomen. He repeats the motion and is instantly rewarded by hands groping for his head and pulling him up, up to reach the hot mouth again. Sanzo follows eagerly, inching his knees apart and sliding them under Goku's thighs, so that, should he straighten, he'd have Goku in his lap. The position is just as delightful horizontally, the contact so tantalisingly close and yet so remote. He feels a thrill when a strong hand finds his erection and strokes carefully.

"I wanna fuck you," Sanzo says, his tongue flicking against the curve of Goku's jaw. There is not question in his voice, but Goku manages to infer the "can I?"

"Yeah." There is a hitch in Goku's breathing and Sanzo cannot help but smirk as reaches for the nightstand. The pharmacy bag refuses to comply and sticks to the sweat of his skin. He manages to discard it, muttering a string of curses into the sweaty skin beneath his lips, not caring when the bag drops to the floor by the bed. He drops the condom on the sheet, uncaps the tube with his teeth and returns his attention to Goku.

He sits up, as much as he can without dislodging Goku's hand from his cock. He sneaks his hand between their hips, lubricant-slicked fingers sliding between Goku's legs, probing for his entrance. He slides a finger in, simultaneously leaning forward, forcing the spread legs wider apart. Sanzo leans forward to press his mouth right above Goku's nipple, listening for the strangled gasp signifying he's been successful in his attempts at distraction. Goku is far from completely relaxed, which isn't a particularly good thing, because Sanzo's mind isn't too clear. Even the slightest move makes him want to hurry the hell up, clutch those inviting hips and thrust his cock into Goku.

He takes a deep breath, trying to ignore the thought for a few more minutes, with little success. Trying not to think about fucking when he is intimately pressed against a very aroused, very naked guy, in his own damned bed – well, "impossible" doesn't quite cover it. Sanzo lets out a shuddering moan and glares, for all he's worth, as if it was Goku's fault.

Bad idea, he thinks, when Goku looks up. His eyes gleam with the light spilling in through the window from the street lamps and neon signs, the irises unnaturally bright on his shadowed face. He looks – unearthly—ingenuous and debauched, chaste and wanton at the same time.

Sanzo twists his fingers almost viciously and pulls them out. Goku's eyes close as a mewl escapes his mouth, but Sanzo isn't listening – he is trying to hold on to whatever is left of his self-control. Fumbling with the condom takes just about all the patience he has left, but at the moment even breathing is taking too much time. Nothing is more important than going faster, because the world? The world might have exploded in the last three minutes, and Sanzo didn't notice. All that matters is that he needs to be inside Goku, right now, this minute, hopefully three minutes ago.

A few more jerky movements and Sanzo closes his eyes and he slowly sinks into the body underneath him. He clenches the sheets around his fists, trying to keep himself together. Maybe Gojyo is right, he should be getting laid more often, and then he wouldn't be so high-strung. Thing is, at the moment, he is not sure whether that would be a good thing. Goku feels so unbelievably good, tightly wrapped around his cock. A little too tightly, if the frown on his face and laboured breathing are any indication. Sanzo, beyond rational thought, shifts his balance to his left hand and reaches up with his right, to cover Goku's mouth and nose. He waits for the air supply being cut off to register, which in their current state cannot last long.

Goku's eyes fly open, and Sanzo finds that he cannot look away. He leans forward, so that his mouth is level with Goku's ear.

"Breathe in," he says and moves his palm to cover Goku's chin. He waits a couple of seconds and covers Goku's mouth again, his own dropping to his neck, nibbling. He counts to ten and lets go. "Slowly," he mutters, flicking his tongue at the earlobe. Goku's relaxing already, and Sanzo allows a small smile to emerge against the heated skin. He repeats the process with a couple more breaths before he feels Goku's thighs spreading just a little more, the heels digging into his lower back, drawing him in deeper, and then there's nothing left to do but surrender.

It's a little bit awkward at first for Sanzo to find an angle of thrusts that doesn't send him him who sprawling. Good thing they are so wound up—the both of them—that a long, slow fuck is really out of question. They move together, and it's uncoordinated, messy, but extremely pleasurable. Sanzo lets his head drop to Goku's shoulder, even as he reaches down to take his erection in his hand.

They climax quickly, holding onto one another. There are no fireworks, just the insistent wailing of an ambulance siren outside. They slowly start to untangle their bodies and clean up, just enough so that the next morning won't be scoring a ten on the five-point scale of uncomfortable. When they're finished, Sanzo exhales, satisfied, and presses a forceful kiss to Goku's mouth. They kiss, but the heat is that of a lazy afterglow rather than passion.

They fall asleep a short while later, too spent to care about the tangled sheets and general disarray the room is in. When Sanzo wakes up several long hours later, the sun is high in the sky. He sits up and scowls, seeing the mess they'd managed to make of his bed. Goku is still asleep, snoring softly. The sunlight teases at his eyelids and he responds by turning his head.

"Moron," Sanzo mutters, but his mouth curves upwards as he says it and gets out of bed. It's Saturday morning, but sleeping in isn't one of his habits. He might as well get some breakfast done, assuming there is any.

There is. Eggs are sizzling on the pan and coffee is done by the time Goku appears in the kitchen, dishevelled and still sleepy.

"Food?" he asks, smiling brightly.

Sanzo rolls his eyes but throws a look at the contents of the pan. "Something like it."

"Cool."

They eat in silence. In fact, the morning is mostly silent.

"Thanks," Goku says as he walks out the door. He grins and skips down the stairs, but Sanzo doesn't see the last part, having closed the door as soon as he saw Goku's back. He is, most uncharacteristically, smiling. Slightly, because a happy expression on Sanzo would require divine intervention, at least, but it is a grin nonetheless. A good fuck makes for a good mood, even Sanzo has to admit. He is reconsidering his scoffing remarks on the subject of the importance of getting laid. Maybe he'll be extra nice to Gojyo for dragging him to that club after all. He might even retrieve the extra paperwork he snuck into his pile. He smirks. No, there's no need to go that far.

xxX.XxX.Xxx

I'm not sure about the shift to past tense, though it seems to work.

Commissioner Kanzeon breezed through the office like an angel of misfortune storming through Gomorrah. She preferred storming to walking, marching or striding. Storming, she insisted, was her style.

"Genjo!" she hollered in the general direction of, well, everyone. She was waving a manila folder over her head like it was a flag of victory.

Across the bullpen a blond head rose. "What?" the man asked.

"Job for you. Tony's baby son agreed to testify. Make sure he gets to the stand in one piece."

"What? Since when do I babysit?"

"Since now. Kid's seventeen and has a nice healthy death wish. Trial is three weeks from today. All necessary expenses will be covered, but it's probably best if you kept him in your apartment. He's got him some persistent enemies. Good luck," she said, holding the door of interrogation room open. Sanzo glared at his boss.

"One of these days, I'm going to kill you," he promised. He grabbed the folder from her hand and strode into the room. "Hey," he started, but didn't get to finish. His lungs declared a temporary strike and refused to accept any more air. Not that he could blame them, really. Because – fuck! – across the heavy table a pair of golden eyes were widening, their owner just as surprised as he was.

Sanzo could do nothing but stare. The lighting had been lousy that other night, and he didn't particularly care to overanalyse now (the club was over 21, for fuck's sake!), but this was a _kid_. As evidenced by baggy shorts and a loud t-shirt.

"Wow, this is going to be fifteen pounds of awkward," Goku muttered, averting his gaze.

"Fuck."

"Yeah."

Sanzo sat down heavily and looked around the room. Finally his eyes came to rest on Goku, who was busy drilling a hole in the table with his gaze. There was a bare hint of a grin tugging at his mouth.

"I should be arresting you," he said, trying to sound like he meant it. "You were in the club illegally."

"You do that, and there's a statutory rape suit coming your way," Goku replied, eyes squinting, tongue poking out between his exposed teeth. The expression was devilish, amused, and to Sanzo's dismay, very, very sexy.

This was going to be fifteen _tons_ of awkward.

**END.**


End file.
